'I officially hate the doors on this train!' I growled, whilst Albus crowed with laughter behind me. I was struggling with the door yet again. Why had nobody bothered to oil these things in seven years?

'Want me to open it for you, Rosie?' he offered when he caught his breath. I glowered.

'No, I...' I managed to push it open all the way with a satisfying thump. 'I'm fine.'

I went to walk into the heads' carriage... and stopped dead. There was one person sitting by the window, a book propped open in his lap as he spun his wand through his fingers like a baton, creating showers of sparks. That handsome, arrogant face was the last one I wanted to see, but even less welcome was the silver badge pinned to his silver and green tie.

'Malfoy... you're head boy?' I shrieked, incensed.

He glanced up as we entered; his grey eyes cold and distant. 'Yup. Well done, Weasley, you aren't blind.'

'I think I'm gonna go...' Albus said quietly, his gaze swivelling between me and Malfoy, who was glaring disgustedly in our direction.

'Don't you dare leave me!' I hissed at Al. He gave me an apologetic glance.

'So... bye!' he exclaimed, and ducked out of sight, practically running down the corridor. Sometimes I had to wonder where his spine really was. He was supposed to be a Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake!

I walked reluctantly into the compartment and slid the door closed behind me. Part of me was inwardly screaming to run away, and another part wanted to satisfy some curiosity that I couldn't explain. The second part won out eventually, and I sat down stiffly opposite Malfoy, who had returned to his book, completely ignoring my presence.

'I can't believe they made you head boy,' I sighed, shaking my head in incredulity. Malfoy's eyes flickered up to my face for a second, and I saw his trademark smug smirk pulling up one corner of his mouth.

'I was a little surprised too, Weasley. But now that I see you sitting here, I know that it was just McGonagall getting me back for all my detentions over the last few years.' He turned a page in his book nonchalantly. 'This will be the ultimate endurance test.'

'Your Slytherin friends aren't here, Malfoy. You don't have to pretend that you hate me.' I had no idea what made me say those words, but they slipped out before I could think them through. I'd expected him to sneer, but the strangest expression crossed his face. It looked like my Dad trying to work out how to use a computer. Slightly frustrated and incredibly puzzled.

'What makes you think I'm pretending?' he asked, though his question sounded more curious than spiteful.

'You can bully me all you want. You can hang out with your dreadful friends and listen to your grandfather all you want, but don't forget that I know you. Or at least, I did.' I was shocked by how upfront I was being. Malfoy's stormy grey eyes widened slightly, and I could tell he was thinking the same thing.

'I've changed since second year, Weasley,' he replied, and there was some sort of challenge in his words that I didn't understand.

'Really?' I feigned surprise and reached over to pull his book out of his grasp. He wasn't expecting it, so his hands slid away from the pages as I pulled it towards me. I glanced at the page he was reading. The Inner Circle of Lord Voldemort. One sentence jumped out at me; The Malfoy family were among Voldemort's (formerly He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named) closest and most loyal followers, even going as far as, during the Great War, offering their own manor house as accommodation for Voldemort and the other Death Eaters, much in the way that Grimmauld Place – the house in which Harry Potter still resides – was used to house the Order of the Phoenix.

The book was torn a little here, by what looked like fingernails digging into the page. I felt a great swell of pity that raised a lump in my throat, though I wasn't immediately sure why.

'I know you hate this,' I whispered. Malfoy was frozen into a casual position, though I could see how uncomfortable he truly was. His face was blank, apart from his eyes. The tortured expression I had seen on the first day I had met him, the very first train ride to Hogwarts, which had returned. And for one second I saw a glimpse of the boy he was back then. One fleeting glimpse and it was gone, to be replaced by a hard, stony expression that made his face look somehow less than human.

'Give me my book back,' he ordered. I handed it over silently, wishing that I hadn't taken it in the first place. The question I was dying to ask burned on my tongue, itching to be said.

'Why read it?' I blurted, unable to hold it in. 'If it's just going to upset you, why read it? Why not ignore...' I trailed off as he glared.

'You have no idea about any of this, and I'm not going to bother explaining it to you. Do me a favour, Weasley, and shut up. I've had enough of your annoying voice.' His tone was full of sneering bravado that was typical of the new and not so improved Scorpius Malfoy, and my anger flared again.

'What I don't get is... why bother? All your friends think it's cool that your dad was a Death Eater, so why do you feel the need to read everything you can lay your hands on about stuff that happened before you were born? Unless, y'know, you're swatting up to become some dark wizard.'

Malfoy jerked his head like I'd slapped him. The look on his face told me that I may as well have, and I tried to ignore the guilty feeling that bubbled in the pit of my stomach. Sure, I hated Malfoy, but that didn't mean I didn't feel sorry for him sometimes.

'I need to know.' I hadn't expected an answer, so I was shocked when his voice interrupted my guilt trip, low and rough. 'If people are talking about your family everywhere you go, you need to know why, don't you?'

'But you know why now,' I reminded him.

'I know, but I don't understand.'

In all my years of knowing Malfoy, I had never once heard him utter those last three words. I don't understand... Annoyingly, in all the time I've known him, I'd never come across a single thing that he didn't understand. He knew how to do all of his subjects, passing them with flying colours, the only student's grades to rival mine. He knew how to charm teachers, get into the cellar at Honeydukes, smuggle Firewhisky into the Prefect's common room without getting caught, and get a new girlfriend every week. It was more than frustrating. Anything I could do... Malfoy did it better.

'What is there to understand?' I asked, more sharply than I'd intended.

'You know what makes me so angry I could puke?' he growled suddenly. I shook my head, mystified. 'The fact that you sit there like little miss holier-than-thou, and you don't have a clue. There've been plenty of books written about the Weasley family, all exalting your stupid name, saying how amazing you all are. The Weasleys save the day. And then there's your uncle, Saint Harry bloody Potter. Wherever you go, the worst that happens is your parents get asked for their autographs! You don't know what it's like... and you sit there and act like the authority on everything!' Malfoy finished his little speech by slamming his hand down on the leather binding of his book, breathing hard as though he'd been running. His eyes bored into me like Teflon-coated steel.

'I don't know what what is like?' I retorted.

'Being an outcast!' The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. I laughed humourlessly.

'An outcast? Malfoy, you are not an outcast! You – though I can't for the life of me see why – are one of the most popular people in our entire year! Our entire school, even!'

'And do you know how hard I had to try? You walked in and everyone wanted to be your friend, but me... I had to work so damn hard to get people to even talk to me!'

'That's a lie!' I spat.

'How is it?' he hissed back. 'When I started school I had nobody!'

'You had me!' I cried. 'Me and Al! I was always there; I tried so hard to be your friend! You may spit "Weasley" at me like it's a curse, but I was "Rosie" once upon a time!'

Malfoy, for once, was completely speechless, but I wasn't about to stop now. Not when there were four and a half years worth of repressed feelings to scream at him.

'And then you had to go and start trying to impress your stupid grandfather that you hate so much, and you made friends with Nott and Sophie Avery and Goyle and all those horrible people, and still, I tried really hard to be your friend! I wanted to stay your friend the whole time! But then your other friends started being vicious and vile and cruel, and I sat there taking every insult they dished out, waiting for you to jump in and defend me! But you didn't, and that was it for me. I stopped waiting for you to save me and decided to save myself, Scorpius!'

Still, Malfoy said nothing. There was a strong possibility that he had lost the ability to speak.

'And then, even when you were being mean, even when you were just like them, I thought that it was just for show, that you didn't mean it, not really, and so I let it go. I still cared. You remember in third year, when that bludger hit you over the head in that game against Gryffindor? I came up to the hospital wing every single day while you were unconscious! And where were your Slytherin friends then, Malfoy, eh? It was me; I was the one who stayed with you to make sure you were alright, not them! And we were friends! Even then, when you and Al wouldn't speak! And then in fourth year, outside Potions, just before the Yule Ball...' I stopped there as guilt flashed across his features. He remembered that day as well as I did.

'I was stupid enough to think that, maybe deep down, you didn't mean that either. I was so close to forgiving you when you came to apologise at the Yule Ball, so close... but then, when I saw... And that is when I decided you weren't worth the effort. Not when I found out your last name, and not when I realised that your father was one of my dad's greatest enemies, and not when I knew Voldemort had lived in your house. The only thing that made me hate you was you.' I sat in enraged silence for a moment, before I began to regret my outburst. A blush crept up my neck and cheeks.

To my intense surprise, Malfoy smiled. Not a genuine I'm-so-sorry-for-how-I-treated-you smile, but that mocking, teasing smile I detested so much. His eyes were colder and more metallic than ever.

'Well, thanks for that, Weasley, that was enlightening,' he said, and returned to his book like nothing had happened. I was too furious, too embarrassed to say anything further, and resorted to staring morosely out of the window for the rest of the journey.

A year with Scorpius Malfoy was going to be my personal hell on Earth. I tried to fight the tears of injustice that were welling up in my eyes, but I couldn't escape one tear trickling down my cheek, leaving a warm, wet and very visible track. I couldn't brush it away without Malfoy noticing, so I left it there to drip off my jaw.

Once or twice, I felt him watching me, but every time I glanced over, he looked just as absorbed in his book as before. Maybe not, then.

I hated him with a vengeance, but it had taken me all this time to realise that I still cared about what he thought of me. That I still felt horrible about his heritage.

That I still had any sort of feelings for him at all.